The Lost O
by madame.alexandra
Summary: A certain redhead is just having a bad day.


_A/N: Let me explain this one. It comes from Tumblr-after a fashion. I happened to be amused by a post MatteaAM reblogged that said something to the effect of 'It's funny how in fanfic, women always come'. I proudly remarked that I wrote a story in which Jenny did not (Russian Twilight, if you'll remember). MatteaAM and I got to talking, and I offered to write her a little something. I have her two prompt options, and this is what she picked:"A Bad Sex Day". _

_-The title is partially a reference to Sex and the City; there is an episode in which Samantha laments that she "lost her orgasm"._

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><p>She was lying in bed, resolutely attempting to avoid thinking about what had just transpired in recently aforementioned bed—a feat that was rather hard to accomplish when a certain male someone was sprawled out next to her in apparent <em>complete<em> satisfaction about what had just happened.

She let out a deep breath, refusing to even pretend it wasn't a sigh.

Unfortunately, her bed partner completely misinterpreted the nature of her _sigh_.

He shifted next to her, his arm snaking across her waist lazily. She arched an eyebrow in disbelief. Was he seriously trying to snuggle with her right now? _Really_?

She turned her head towards him sharply, locking her green ones firmly onto his icy, sated blue ones. He raised his eyebrows and smirked appreciatively.

She did not exactly attempt to soften the harsh blow of the next blunt words out of her mouth:

"I faked it."

It was as if the entire world stopped spinning. He started at her blankly for a suspenseful moment, and then he abruptly pulled his hand off of her bare skin.

"_What_?" he growled loudly.

She nodded, shrugging him off a little.

"I faked it," she repeated. "That was a fake orgasm."

Leroy Jethro Gibbs looked like he had been smacked in the face. Twice.

"As in, it was not real. It didn't happen," she continued, glaring at him.

He bolted up, the sheets slipping off his waist. He twisted towards her, his palm resting on the pillow next to her head. His knuckles were pale. He stared at her as if he had discovered he was sleeping with a completely different woman.

"You didn't come?" he asked.

She pushed herself up on her arms, turning her head to look at him, her long red hair spilling over her shoulders like red wine.

"Did I stutter?" she asked pointedly, employing one of his cute little _trademark_ lines.

He glared at her. He looked all kinds of offended and outraged and annoyed—and was that shame she detected?

Oh. Oh god, she hoped so. He better be ashamed.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he demanded, a muscle in his jaw throbbing.

"You were otherwise occupied," she remarked cattily.

"You should have stopped me!" he retorted defensively. She sat up a little more, blinking her eyes in belief.

"There is no stopping you, Jethro!" she reminded him, annoyed. "You're saying you didn't notice?" she inquired, slightly offended. "I know you feel it when I do."

"The way you were carrying on, Jen?" he fired back sarcastically. He tilted his head back and fluttered his eyes. "_'Harder_, Jethro, fuck me _harder_,'" he mocked breathily.

She gave him a look.

"Well if you heard that, I don't understand how you failed to make me come," she informed him snippily. She picked up a pillow and chucked it at him.

"And I do not sound like that," she added, blushing, and falling back on the pillows. She sighed heavily again. She felt him glaring at her and rolled over, running her hands through her hair, her head spinning. She was so frustrated.

It wasn't really his fault; she was just having an off day. The foreplay hadn't been as wonderful either, and hadn't lasted as long. This was rare for her, and it pissed her off. She was supposed to be the one with no concept of pacing herself, or whatever the hell Jethro teased her for.

He shifted; she felt him yank the covers down. Chills shot up her spine and through her veins. He moved next to her, stretching out, laying down close, his body warm. He massaged her shoulder, his face close behind her ear. He kissed her neck, scraping his teeth on her skin gently.

She huffed and folded her arms, resting her chin on her wrists.

"You okay, Jen?" he asked quietly. He was slightly concerned about his well-being if she decided she wanted revenge.

"Would _you_ be okay?" she scoffed, glancing at him briefly.

"It's not an issue for me," he answered insensitively. She had trouble believing she had heard right. Jethro put his foot in his mouth sometimes, but _really_?

"I can arrange for it to be an issue," she growled, the threat of her withholding favors looming like storm clouds over his head.

He winced. Big mistake. He narrowed his eyes.

"Dammit, Jenny," he swore, tensing a little. His hand stopped moving. "How the hell was I supposed to know?" he demanded. She was the one who had faked it, and now that was _his_ fault?

She lifted her head a little, shrugging carelessly. She should stop antagonizing him and she knew it; she only faked it because she knew it wasn't going to happen and when she knew it wasn't going to happen, it was unpleasant to have him trying to force it.

It just happened to put her in a bad mood so naturally she was taking it out on Mr. I-Don't-Have-That-Issue. Men. _Men_ and their ridiculous gift of not having orgasm _issues_.

"Have you ever faked it before?" he asked sharply, sitting back up.

She turned her head a little, her eyes running over the muscle of his abdomen. She considered answering affirmatively just to spite him, but he'd know if she was lying.

"No," she answered, resigned. "Not with you," she muttered, turning to stare at the headboard again. "I didn't really fake it, I simply didn't stop you," she said.

"You faked it," he accused balefully.

She scowled.

"I don't like that position," she admitted curtly.

"Then why—"

"You like that position," she answered without letting him finish, looking at him sharply.

"Jen," he growled, exasperated. "I'm a man. I like any position that gets me inside you."

She blinked and shifted, turning onto her side. She propped her head on her palm and rested her other arm over her hip. She arched an eyebrow threateningly, schooling her features.

"Are you suggesting I am merely an object for your sexual pleasure?" she asked, deadpan.

A painted look crossed his face. He gave her a wary look, narrowing his eyes suspiciously.

"I didn't say that," he asserted. "Don't put words in my mouth," he growled.

She looked down and back up, smirking a little.

"I'm teasing," she admitted impishly. "You're not in trouble," she mocked, puckering her lips and reaching out to whack him lightly in the ribs with the back of her hand.

He glared at her for a good minute, trying to make sense of the tragedy that was happening, and then in a swift movement, lunged over her and tangled them up in sheets, wrapping his arm around her and settling gently on top of her, the wrinkled bedclothes half-trapped in between.

"What do you want me to do, Jen?" he murmured huskily, kissing the column of her neck. He rubbed his foot against hers, his breath warm, tickling her sensitive skin. She tilted her head back, smirking.

She relished the idea of having him in her power, willing to do to her whatever she so wished, but alas, she knew it wasn't going to make a difference. It just wasn't going to cut it today.

Today was a bad sex day.

"Forget it, Jethro," she said casually, running her hand through his hair and pulling his head up, her fingers twisted tightly in the silver.

He snorted derisively.

"If I forget it, you'll never let me forget it," he retorted. He was right on some level. There was a good chance she would bring this up again in order to manipulate him into something.

But she wasn't going to admit that.

"I am not that passive-aggressive," she scoffed, rolling her eyes.

He jerked out of her grasp and pressed a kiss to her jaw.

"Are too," he muttered into her skin.

"Just forget it," she repeated, shaking her head. She lifted her knee and nudged him pointedly with it. "It isn't going to happen."

"Why?" he demanded, raising his head and glaring at her.

She caught his eye.

"Because Eve ate the apple, and because of that ignorant bitch, women don't always come," Jenny answered soberly and dramatically.

He ran his hand down her side, slipping it under her hips and pulling her closer to him.

"You don't think I can make it happen?" he asked, placing his lips seductively close to her ear.

She smirked, rolling her eyes. What an ego Jethro had. She leaned forward, pressing her cheek against his.

"I believe you just failed," she reminded him sweetly.

He growled at her. She pecked his cheek chastely and reached up, pressing against his chest.

"Get off me," she said, giving him a little shove.

He rolled over and lay on his back with a set jaw, glaring at the ceiling. She sat up and leaned over him, the tips of her red her brushing tantalizingly against his chest and abdomen.

"Is it a comfort if I say it's not you, it's me?" she asked innocently.

"Make up your mind," he snapped, turning his icy glare on her.

She cocked her head fetchingly.

"Am I emasculating you?" she probed.

He gave her an annoyed look and grunted, glaring back at her ceiling. She made a show of glancing up as if to see what he was looking at and sighed, frowning a little.

"There wasn't anything you could do, Jethro," she said tersely, kicking him a little. "I just kept losing it. Get over yourself."

He turned over on his side and scowled at her.

"What do you mean you kept 'losing' it?" he demanded skeptically. She sighed and glared at him, finding it difficult and somewhat uncomfortable to try and explain to him. Really, had the man never had this happen with _any_ of his wives? The wives who had _left_ him?

"Every time I hit the edge, you changed pace," she said through gritted teeth, "or I was distracted, or it just. didn't. _happen_. I lost it. Understand? The Case of the Misplaced Orgasm. Solved."

"_Not_ solved," he retorted pointedly, looking her up and down. Nothing was solved if she was still frustrated and left high and dry. He scowled at her, grumbling under his breath to himself. She gave him an annoyed look.

"Is there a reason _you_ are so offended by _my_ lack of—" she paused suddenly, arching a brow at him. She pursed her lips and raised her eyes to the ceiling. "Christ," she swore, glaring back at him after a moment. "Your _pride_ is hurt," she accused.

He made a derisive noise and gave her a look. She rolled her eyes, her eyes flashing and dancing in some sort of amusement. She leaned closer, her lips close to his now, and clicked her tongue mockingly.

"You egomaniacal bastard," she hissed playfully.

"You're saying I didn't satisfy you!" he barked.

"Jethro!" she growled, hitting the back of his head lightly. "Just because I didn't come doesn't mean it wasn't good for me!" she informed him, rolling her eyes. "Sex _can_ be good without an orgasm."

He stared at her, completely uncomprehending.

She snorted sarcastically.

"Right," she murmured. "Never mind; that's a female thing."

She settled herself on top of him, her hips resting low over his, and leaned forward, her arms on his chest. Her hair fell over her shoulders and she rested her chin in her palms, staring at him with a lifted eyebrow.

"It isn't lost forever," she said pointedly. "Just a bad day."

He glared at her, untrusting for a moment. He shifted, reaching up to hold her hips, his thumbs pressing into the dips near her bones. She moved her hands and pressed them against his neck, feeling his pulse, her bare skin soft and warm against his.

"What do we do about it?" he asked gruffly, shifting her hips so she was more comfortable for him. She smirked and leaned in to kiss him, biting her lip coquettishly. She lowered her voice, and said throatily:

"We look for it."

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><p><em>What's this? A little snippet of realism in the fanfiction world of Sex-God Men always selflessly pleasing their women?<br>I like it. How 'bout you?  
>-Alexandra<em>


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